


Problème Féminin

by Yuri4Gwen



Category: Agatha Christie's Poirot (TV)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Bottom Hastings, Dry Humping, Hand Jobs, Hastings POV, Inexperienced Hastings, Insecure Hastings, Inspired By Episode The Veiled Lady, M/M, Marking, Minor Hastings/Minor Female Character, My Poor Attempt At French, Oblivious Hastings, Possessive Behavior, Possessive Poirot, Top Poirot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-06
Updated: 2020-06-06
Packaged: 2021-03-03 04:14:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,954
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24198811
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yuri4Gwen/pseuds/Yuri4Gwen
Summary: A mysterious letter arrives at Poirot's asking for Hastings help. Can he keep it a secret from the ever-inquisitive detective long enough to solve the mystery?
Relationships: Arthur Hastings/Hercule Poirot
Kudos: 49





	Problème Féminin

**Author's Note:**

> Un-betaed so please excuse all my mistakes.

Miss Lemon walked briskly into the room with a pile of letters in one hand and Poirot’s tisane in the other. She arranged both on the desk before Poirot in an orderly fashion. Then she lifted the top letter from the pile and turned to Captain Hastings who was in his usual place on the sofa absorbed in the newspaper.

“There’s a letter here for you, Captain Hastings.”

Hastings lowered his paper with a confused expression on his face; it wasn’t completely outside the realm of possibility for him to receive correspondence at Poirot’s address just extremely rare. He took the letter from Miss Lemon.

“Thank you, Miss Lemon.”

It was an innocuous-looking letter, small in a blue envelope with his name and Poirot’s address in a decidedly feminine looking script. Inside was a short letter written in the same handwriting.

‘Dear Captain Hastings

I’m not sure if you will remember me but at one time you tried to help me when I was in a difficult situation. Unfortunately, at the time I had become mixed up in some criminal activity but have since tried to put my life in order and live a decent existence. 

Recently some of my past associates have been trying to coerce me back into my previous life and I am at a loss of what to do. You are the only one who can help me and I beg of you not to involve anyone else at this juncture as my reputation is at stake. If you can find it in your heart to help me please meet me at the natural history museum on Wednesday 24th at 2 pm.

Yours respectfully  
Gertie.’ 

Hastings folded the letter over, he mulled over its contents, ‘Gertie, who was Gertie?’ It was on the tip of his tongue to ask Poirot because surely if she had written to him at this address it stood to reason that she must know who Poirot was. He looked up at Poirot only to realize that he was studying him closely. He tried to school his features into one of neutrality, as he didn’t want Poirot to be interested in the letter. This person, Gertie had specifically asked for Hastings help alone for whatever reason, if she had wanted Poirot’s, well she already knew his address.

“Is everything all right mon ami?”

“Perfectly fine.”

Poirot scrutinized him from behind his pince-nez, questions burning in his eyes and Hastings began to dread the upcoming interrogation, as he knew Poirot would get all the information out of him. He quickly placed the letter back into its envelope and shoved it into his jacket pocket. Then he quickly picked up his paper again creating a barrier between them.

“Telephone, Mr Poirot”

Miss Lemon’s voice broke the tension and Hastings quietly sighed with great relief. Within his mind, he prayed for a case even something trivial to take Poirot’s attention off him for the moment. 

“Bonjour Chief Inspector Japp.”

Hastings silently cheered then he checked the date on the paper, today was the 23rd so he had a little time to come up with an excuse as to why he would be busy tomorrow at two. He felt as though at the very least he should meet with this Gertie person and discover what their problem was. 

“Come, Hastings, that was chief inspector Japp and he requires Poirot’s assistance.”

He quickly folded up his paper and followed Poirot out of the flat, listening to him recount this new case with enthusiasm he couldn’t believe his luck. 

After a long day of chasing leads, Hastings was looking forward to a relaxing bath and bed, his mind had become an indistinct muddle of half-formed thoughts. The ride in the train was thankfully quiet as Poirot sat with his eyes closed sorting through all the details of the case. 

Hastings rested his head back against the seat and closed his eyes for a moment, letting his head empty of all thoughts when suddenly the natural history museum comes unbidden to his mind. His eyes snap open and he sits upright full of nervous energy from the shock of remembering that he has to somehow slip away to meet Gertie. He notices that Poirot's rapt attention is on him, his eyes intense on his face, his eyebrow raised in question. 

“Something troubling you, mon ami?”

“Just thinking over the facts of the case.”

“And what conclusions have you come to?”

“Oh nothing much, it’s been a long day. To be honest my bed is more in my thoughts at the moment.

Poirot smiled at him.

“Oh mon pauvre Hastings, would you like to stay with Poirot? We have an early start in the morning.”

“Oh no, I wouldn’t want to put you out, old boy.”

“Ne sois pas bête, you are always welcome at Poirots.”

Hastings started to panic, he didn’t want to offend Poirot or worse still at this point make him interested in what Hastings was up to. He wasn’t sure who had contacted him but they had asked for his help and he only thought it was sporting to respect their wishes at least until he found out what they wanted.

“Poirot… I wanted to talk to you about that.”

Poirot raised his eyebrow at him. Hastings felt his face heating, sweat breaking out at his temples. 

“Well, the thing is… something has… erm come up and therefore tomorrow I eh…”

“Mon Cher Hastings, I know what this is all about.”

Hastings knew he could never fool Poirot, it was pointless to try and he couldn’t even begin to explain why he wanted to do this so badly other than this person had sought his help and he felt a duty to help anyone who needed it. 

“May I see the letter, mon ami?”

“Poirot… I know you are going to argue with me but I need to do this…”

“Will, you not tell Poirot?”

Hastings looked down at his hands that he had placed in his lap, he tried desperately not to fidget under Poirot’s scrutiny but he was failing miserably. 

“I have to do something first then I’ll tell you everything, I’m sorry old boy but I’ve been asked to keep mum on this one.”

A heavy oppressive silence filled the train carriage and he began to wonder if this was all worth the trouble. He didn’t even know this woman and in reality, Poirot would be able to help her better than Hastings could.

“Will you have dinner with me tomorrow, Mon ami?”

Poirot’s voice shocked him into looking up only to see Poirot smiling gently at him. He couldn’t believe that Poirot’s innate curiosity wasn’t getting the better of him, that he was willing to give Hastings space. 

“Of course old boy, what time would you like me to come?”

“Shall we say Six.”

Hastings had spent all morning alternating between mulling over the letter and the train journey home last night. He had hardly slept a wink as he’d replayed the train journey over and over in his head. Why hadn’t Poirot pushed him about the letter? It went against everything that Poirot was and he wanted to believe it was because Poirot had faith in him but if he was honest with himself he wasn’t so sure. He knew he didn’t have a mind like Poirot, he wasn’t an idiot but why wouldn’t Poirot want the whole story last night? 

He just hoped that he could help Gertie, he didn’t want to let her down after all the trouble she had gone to. He checked his watch it was 1:58 pm so he was on time at least, he schooled his features into a confident facade hoping that he looked better than he felt. He walked through the doors of the museum and started looking at the crowd hoping that Gertie would notice him and approach him. Her letter hadn’t stated any way for him to recognize her, she might have thought he would remember her, which unfortunately he didn’t. 

He settled near the door deciding that it was better to remain visible so that she couldn’t miss him. After 30 minutes of people watching and two false starts of thinking that a woman was approaching him only to discover that she was walking to a man or woman behind him, he was starting to think that Gertie had changed her mind. 

‘Ok 15 more minutes then I’ll have to declare this a bust’

He wasn’t looking forward to having to explain to Poirot that someone had reached out for his help only to think better of it and never show. He could almost hear Poirot consoling him while gently mocking him, which he supposed at this point he deserved. 

People milled all around him, he could hear snippets of their conversations, their laughter and little tidbits of information about the various exhibits that interested them. He started to feel a little lonely standing in a sea of people with little purpose; he could have been constructive today, assisted Poirot with his case. 

He checked his watch, 10 minutes had gone by and he was about to admit defeat when he saw a young striking woman with dark hair and eyes wearing a deep red dress staring at him from across the foyer. She was a good distance away so he couldn’t see her too clearly but even from this distance he could tell she was beautiful but he didn’t recognize her. 

He took a deep breath and decided it was now or never, no point in delaying the inevitable and if he made a fool of himself and this wasn’t Gertie then that would be the final nail in the coffin for this venture. He walked briskly towards her and when he was about halfway across she started to move towards him with a sweet smile on her face. 

“Captain Hastings, it’s so good of you to come.”

He was slightly dazed by her beauty and it took him a moment to realize that she had extended her hand towards him. He bashfully took her hand in his for a moment giving it a small shake before letting go.

“Yes, of course… well, you asked for my help.”

“Shall we go somewhere more private to discuss the matter?”

“By all means, if you would feel more comfortable.”

Her smile grew wider showing off her perfectly straight white teeth as she took his arm and started walking him towards the exit.

The afternoon went by in a blur, Hastings felt slightly drunk even though he had imbibed no alcohol. Everything about Gertie was intoxicating from her laugh to her wit and the enticing scent she wore. After she explained the previous case to him Hastings was sincerely embarrassed that he had forgotten her and he realized that she was putting on airs to an extent but he also understood that she was trying to better herself so who was he to judge. Apart from her voice, everything else about her was genuine he was sure of it. 

She had explained that previous associates were trying to entice her back into her previous life of crime and due to this she was back under Scotland Yard’s radar but that she just wanted to live a simple, honest life. 

Hastings thought it was an outrage that these scoundrels were trying to drag this poor decent woman back into a life of crime it was deplorable. He vowed to her that he would do everything in his power to help protect her from them and let Scotland Yard know that she was innocent. This declaration got him a squeeze on the arm and a soft kiss on the cheek, Hastings forgot about everything else.

His hand almost completely encompasses her thigh, his fingers brushing against smooth soft skin at the top of her stockings. His breath begins to quicken as her ruby lips open to smile at him, she runs her dainty fingers enticingly up his arms and rakes her nails across his scalp. She moves sinuously into his lap, his hands sliding from her thighs to her hips, his fingers moving from her skin to the silky smoothness of her underclothes. 

A memory comes unbidden to his mind; it was a rather embarrassing situation that happened during the Davenheim case when he arrived back at Poirot’s flat after interviewing Mr Merritt and sitting on a painted bench. While discussing car-racing Hastings had leaned over the sofa for some racing magazines and Poirot had noticed the paint stains much to Hastings mortification.

“Yes well, Hastings perhaps you should try cleaning them first.” 

He still to this day doesn’t know what possessed him to put the stains on further display, probably just wanted to show the full extent of the damage before he explained what happened, could have happened to anyone. Before he could explain Poirot held up his hand and smiled. Hastings thought he was about to be ridiculed but instead Poirot walked from the room.

“One moment Hastings, do not move.”

He stayed in his position over the back of the sofa feeling all kinds of silly when Poirot returned triumphant with a type of clothes-brush in his hand.

“Please to bend further mon ami, I believe Poirot can save your trousers.”

“What?”

“Bend, I can save your trousers.”

Poirot waved his hands to indicate bending over as though that were the part of the conversation that he didn’t comprehend, it was more why did he have to bend over and how was he supposed to bend over such a small sofa. Poirot heaved a great sigh, walked over to him and placing his hands on his shoulders turned him towards the back of the sofa. He then stepped back checking to see that Hastings was in a good position.

“Remove your jacket, s'il vous plait”

“Poirot is this really necessary?”

“You don’t want Poirot’s help, it will only take a moment.”

He didn’t want to offend Poirot but how would this look; he glanced at Miss Lemon’s window and felt his face heating at what she might think but he removed his jacket placing it over the back of the sofa.

The next things he felt were Poirot’s hands smoothing over the fabric, running over his thighs and the seat of his trousers, which made him tremble, and his face goes from a gentle heat to a roaring inferno. He glanced again at Miss Lemon’s window and hoped today was a filing day so that she wouldn’t come to the window to see this display. He could hear her typing at the moment so knew she wasn’t paying attention at the moment at least.

Then one of Poirot’s hands pulled the fabric taut against his skin and with the other, he ran the brush in short strokes over it, he assumed to take as much of the dried paint off as possible. Soon the only sounds he could hear were typing, scraping of the brush and Poirot’s breathing as he concentrated on his task.

The methodical way Poirot worked slowly made Hastings mind float away, it all started to feel strangely soothing and he relaxed against the sofa. Then the hand that was smoothing out the material started to brush over him, he assumed removing the flecks of paint that the brush had dislodged but it snapped him out of his relaxed state.

This new rhythm had the double effect of pushing him more firmly against the back of the sofa and highlighting for him the strength and agility of Poirot’s hands as they ran over him with only a small barrier between their skin. Suddenly his clothes felt too tight, he felt sweat break out along his hairline down the back of his neck and his breath became shallow.

To his eternal shame, he became aroused, just from Poirot running his hands over him while pressing him into the sofa. He knew it had been a while since he had been intimate with anyone but that was no excuse, what would Poirot think? He had never shown any interest in matters of a sexual nature and now this, would he be disgusted at Hastings? He started to panic, he simultaneously wanted Poirot to stop and never stop, to maybe use those wonderful hands to explore a bit more and maybe a bit more forcefully. No, he had to stop thinking like this or it was only going to get worse. He tried to mentally give himself an ice bath, anything to douse his ardour when he felt Poirot’s hand on his shoulder and his breathy voice by his ear.

“Much better, Mon ami. Please excuse I must wash the brush.” 

Then he was gone leaving Hastings in a completely weary state over the sofa, terrified to move but also terrified that Miss Lemon would come in to check on him if she saw him this way. The next ten minutes were some of the most awkward of Hastings life as he sat on Poirot’s little sofa willing away a most inappropriate erection while waiting for his friend to reappear and hopefully not notice. 

Heat suffuses his face as her delighted laugh reaches his ears and he realizes that his little trip down memory lane has had an effect on his body in the present.

“Oh Captain Hastings, I was beginning to think you were too much of a gentleman.”

She started to undulate her body against his, he could feel every inch of her and the friction against his erection was making him lose control, not that he had much control over this situation, to begin with. Using the hands on the back of his head she pulled him down towards her soft lips. He brought his arms up around her slim shoulders to pull her more firmly against him, which caused her to moan into his mouth. 

‘Much better, Mon ami…’ Poirot’s breathy voice was so close that his warm breath tickles his ear and with a small amount of concentration he can feel the reassuring weight of his hand on his shoulder, the skin under his trousers tingling. Then everything goes white as he comes into his underwear with Gertie’s nails in the back of his neck. 

The ride back to his flat was an awkward one, filled with shame and regret, he had never been that improper with a lady ever. To think if anyone had seen them acting so inappropriately, what would they think? What would they say? 

He had walked Gertie back to her hotel room and when they were alone outside her door he began to apologize profusely for his conduct, as he didn’t know what had come over him. She simply laughed and kissed him quickly on the lips before disappearing into her room. 

He had got a taxi home, had a bath and got ready for bed but he couldn’t sleep, the events of that afternoon replaying in his mind. He also worried about the fact that Poirot’s soft voice in his mind and the memory of his hands had been what had brought him to completion. How would he look Poirot in the eye tomorrow?

The ringing of his telephone made Hastings wake with a start completely disoriented, his heart was racing. He had had a horrible night of tossing and turning, never able to get comfortable and when he had managed to get some sleep, disturbing fragments of dreams awoke him from his uneasy slumber. The telephone stopped ringing and he picked up his watch from his bedside table and nearly fell off the side of his bed when he saw that it was 11:12 am, he was so late. 

He rushed through his morning routine feeling completely out of sorts and jumped in the Lagonda heading for Poirot’s flat just hoping he hadn’t missed him.

He decided to skip the elevator and took the stairs two at a time as he was full of adrenaline and needed to work off some of the excess energy. When he entered the flat the first thing that greeted him was Miss Lemon’s anxious face, which quickly morphed into one of anger.

“Captain Hastings where have you been?”

Before he could reply and tell her that he was sorry but he had only slept in, he heard urgent footsteps running in from Poirot’s office.

“Hastings!”

Poirot’s face was red with anger, his breath was uneven and his hands were shaking. Hastings was perplexed, he knew he was late but was it worth all this unease and antagonism? 

“Miss Lemon, you may go for the day.”

“Mr Poirot?”

“I need to have a conversation of the most serious with Captain Hastings.”

Miss Lemon looked undecided for a moment but after glancing one last time at Poirot who had not taken his eyes off Hastings she made up her mind and started to collect her things. With one last worried glance at him, she walked out the door. 

With Miss Lemon gone Hastings started to panic all over again, he didn’t fully understand the situation but Poirot seemed incensed and he’d never dismissed Miss Lemon in the middle of the day before. Poirot walked up to him with that intensity he had exhibited since Hastings had entered the flat and started absentmindedly fixing his tie and jacket. 

“Care to explain, Hastings?”

“I’m terribly sorry Poirot I just slept in that’s all.”

“Just slept in? Where have you been, Hastings? I have not got sleep, mauvaise nuit pour Poirot, J'ai préparé un merveilleux dîner pour toi and where were you? Je craignais le pire, I didn’t know where you were or what had happened to you. Qu'as tu fais la nuit dernière?”

Poirot didn’t take a breath, all his words came out as one long string of almost sounds to Hastings, it was such a jumble of English and French that he didn’t fully comprehend everything he was trying to say so he ended up staring at him blankly by way of answer. 

“Where have you been?”

“Poirot… please, I don’t understand.”

“Must I treat you like a child, Hastings? Is that truly the only way to get through to you?”

Hastings could feel his face redden with indignity, he wasn’t a child and he didn’t need to be treated like one. Why was Poirot so upset? He was late but he could have investigated the case without Hastings input. 

“Last night where were you?”

“Last night?”

“Yes, Hastings how many times must I repeat, where?”

“Well, I was at home.”

“From when?”

“When?”

“Yes, when?”

“I… eh don’t know exactly… I was really tired and didn’t check the time.”

“What was the important thing you had to do yesterday?”

“Poirot…”

“The letter, show it to me.”

He held his hand out expectantly, Hastings sighed then reached into his pocket for the now crumpled letter, there was no point in arguing at this point. Poirot took the letter from him and scanned it then his full attention was back on Hastings and it felt more intense than before if that were even possible.

“Gertie? The jewellery thief? Hastings, that’s what this has all been about?”

“Well as you can see she wrote to me as she’d found herself in a spot of bother.”

“Mon pauvre Hastings, do you not see?”

“Well, I did think it was a tad strange that she didn’t solicit your help but I think she was feeling a bit intimidated by you.”

“So how did you spend your time together?”

“Well…”

Hastings felt his face heating and his hand went to the back of his neck in a fit of discomfit. As his hand brushed over his skin they came in contact with raised scratches that sent a shiver through him as memories from the previous night flooded into his mind stalling his speech and making him fidget. 

“Hastings?”

Poirot’s tone brokered no argument so he forced himself to look at him even though at that moment he wanted to run from the flat and never have this conversation. He knew Poirot would get the truth from him, without a doubt but how would he react and would he probe deeper? 

“Well…eh…we met at the museum… to erm… discuss the issue and then we went to a more eh… a private spot to discuss her problem.”

He took a discreet breath and looked up at Poirot whose full attention was still fully focused on him which made his stomach drop. He couldn’t remember a time in all the years that they had known each other that Poirot had scrutinized him for this length of time.

“I’m terribly sorry about last night old chap, I just lost track of the time.”

He felt completely out of sorts, what did Poirot want from him? Did he think that Hastings was so incompetent that he couldn’t deal with Gertie’s problem on his own? The phantom feeling of her nails digging into the back of his neck make him lower his eyes once more while his hand came up to cover the back of his neck out of shame.

Warm strong fingers closed over his wrist and pulled his hand away from his neck exposing his humiliation to Poirot’s eyes. His breath stalled in his lungs as Poirot peered closely at what felt like long ragged brands on the back of his neck. The feeling of Poirot’s iron grip and the ghost of his breath against his sensitive skin made his unease grow as his heart hammered against his ribs. 

“Qu'est-ce que c'est?” 

His heart stopped halfway through a beat and sunk into his turbulent stomach. How can he answer this question? Poirot is going to be filled with so much disappointment and Hastings doesn’t want to witness it especially from Poirot. 

He closed his eyes in defeat and took a deep breath, preparing to tell Poirot what had happened when the words died in his throat at the feeling of Poirot’s fingers gently stroking over the marks.

“Mon pauvre beau Hastings, que vais-je faire de toi?”

The foreign feeling of Poirot’s moustache tickled against his jaw as Poirot’s lips tenderly ghosted over his neck. Hastings sucked in a shuddering breath as he felt the warm wetness of Poirot’s tongue running over his neck as Poirot’s fingers dug into the other side pulling him closer to him.

All the sensations and confusion filling Hastings up made him feel overwhelmed, this was not how he expected this conversation in so much as it was to go. He wasn’t even sure what exactly was happening only how it was making him feel, hot, weak and painfully aroused. What did etiquette dictate one did in this situation?

“Ça va mon cher but Poirot needs to know one thing, as-tu fait l'amour?”

“Poirot… I don’t know how to answer that question”

“With the truth Hastings, la vérité, it shouldn’t be difficult.”

“No, we didn’t… but I can’t say it was a completely professional evening.”

Poirot returned to his neck with greater enthusiasm and teeth as well as tongue putting pressure on his pulse point that made it beat faster under his mouth. Hastings brought his hands up to Poirot's shoulders for support as the moans poured from his mouth and his knees turned to jelly.

Poirot groaned against his skin and nibbled his way to the tender skin at the back of his neck where Gertie’s nails had left gouges in his flesh at her peak of passion, a small reminder of what had transpired last night now being erased by Poirot’s teeth. 

Hastings let his head fall forward to give Poirot greater access to the back of his neck. Poirot suddenly gripped his arm tightly and pulled him towards the sofa with Hastings following him falling over his own feet and almost over the sofa when they reached it. 

Poirot sat him down with a gentle peck on his lips, it was soft and almost chaste causing Hastings to look up at him. His eyes were shining bright with a delighted smile on his face. 

“Mon beau Hastings, may I touch you?”

Hastings nodded, he felt too overwhelmed to verbalize his need, and his mind couldn’t help returning to the last time he had been on this sofa with Poirot. The sensual feeling of Poirot’s hands as they roamed over him and the sensations that had elicited. His name was whispered against the skin of his nose, eyelids, cheek, and chin as Poirot bestowed him with indulgent kisses on his way to his neck. 

“Poirot I have to tell you the truth about what happened last night, it won’t be easy for me to say but I think it’s only decent that I do.”

Poirot murmured his assent from Hastings' neck as he worried an exceptionally sensitive spot. 

“Gertie is a stunningly beautiful woman, ah..." 

The pain from Poirot's malicious mouth at his pulse point forced him to suck in a sharp breath as he felt the soothing sensation of a repentant tongue make gooseflesh break out over his skin. He worried his lip between his teeth to give him the strength to continue.

"I don’t know if you remember her but she was particularly flirtatious towards me and I will admit this bamboozled me and things turned amorous I am ashamed to say. There was touching but our clothes never came off.”

He readied himself for his next confession as it was an immense admission of how Poirot's attention had affected him in the past and letting Poirot know just how much of a degenerate he was.

“I don’t even know if you remember this incident but it had a profound effect on me, one I never would have dared admit out loud but due to the circumstances, I want to be completely honest with you. During the Davenheim case when I returned with paint stains and you erm… helped me out I became… aroused and when I was with Gertie… the memory of how that felt…” 

Poirot’s lips connecting with his cut him off, the slight ticklish sensation of fingers sweeping up the back of his neck and into his hair. Muffled moans past between them as their kisses grew more passionate, Hastings felt contradicting emotions arise within in him of feeling out of his depth but wanting more but how does he ask for more when he doesn’t know what he wants more of. Poirot began to kiss down his neck again while murmuring against his skin and clearing his clothes out of his path as he descended his body. 

“Mon chéri Hastings… I have waited so long… what do you need Mon Cher… dis à Poirot ce que tu veux…”

Hastings wanted more contact so he brought his hands up to run his fingers over Poirot’s neck and head, he wanted more contact between them as he felt he could express himself better physically. How could he verbally tell him what he wanted? He felt his face heat at the thing he wanted to ask for, the idea of pursuing his fantasy.

“Hastings?”

He looked down to see Poirot looking directly into his eyes with a slightly exasperated expression. He swallowed thickly and tried to organize his thoughts and gather his courage.

“You know the thing we were talking about… the erm… Davenheim case can you remember what happened that day on the sofa?” 

“Oui, Mon chéri I remember.”

“Well, I would like to try that… only more.”

“More?”

“Good lord Poirot, I don’t know how to ask for this but that day I enjoyed what you did… I wished for you to be more… forceful.”

“You want for me to be forceful?”

“Yes like that day.”

Poirot searched his face then leaned forward to kiss his lips again, his kiss became quite enthusiastic and he felt himself being forced back into the cushions of the sofa. Suddenly Poirot pulled away from him completely his face deep in concentration before it lit up the way it always did when a solution to a problem presented itself. He leaned over to gently stroke Hastings' face.

“Un moment mon beau ange.”

Then he rushed from the room into the hall leaving Hastings alone to try and gather his thoughts. His mind was a swirl of emotions, excitement, and nervousness with a dash of shame and he had an overwhelming need to please. He didn’t want to disappoint Poirot but he did feel out of his depth. 

Poirot ran triumphantly back in front of him with a little glass jar clutched in his hand. 

“Up, s'il vous plait”

Poirot sat down on the sofa then pulled Hastings down over his lap, it was a little awkward due to Hastings height; he ended up with his head over the arm of the sofa. Poirot manoeuvred him into position then ran his hand from his lower back down to the backs of his thighs, which caused an involuntary shudder to run through him. He started to apply more pressure making his movements more pronounced whilst occasionally stopping to concentrate on a particular area while squeezing Hasting's flesh between his fingers making his breath stutter in his lungs.

“Will you open your trousers for me Mon chéri?”

Hastings awkwardly reached down while lifting his hips to undo the buttons on his trousers, he was conscious of the fact that he was putting pressure on Poirot’s thighs but he felt Poirot’s hand rubbing over his hip in reassurance. 

As the material of his trousers loosened he felt Poirot’s fingers skim his waist as he hooked his fingers into them and his underwear and pulled. Even in Poirot’s verging on tropical temperatures living room he feels a slight chill breakout over his skin, as all his blood seems to redirect to his face where it thrums under his skin in time with his heartbeat.

There falls a hush over the room followed by Poirot’s harsh breathing, which seems to echo in Hastings mind. Was something wrong? Had Poirot changed his mind?

Then the brush of warm tentative fingers against his chilled skin, reverent touches almost as though they were afraid to touch a delicate piece of china which might break. 

“Can you balance on your knees for me Mon chéri?”

Poirot ran his hand down the outside of his thigh making gooseflesh rise in its wake as he pulled his knees awkwardly up onto the sofa beside Poirot. 

“Bon.”

Poirot ran his hand delicately up the inside of his thigh making Hastings take his bottom lip between his teeth and bite down until the shock of pain calmed him slightly.

The sound of a jar being opened sounded deafening within the relative quiet of the room. Then Poirot’s fingers created a weird wet sensation as they moved in a determined fashion towards a place he never dreamed would be touched by another person. 

During the war, he had laid in the dark and heard men together relieving the tensions and frustrations that one felt when they were surrounded by death. Even though he was terrified and alone he had never felt the need to indulge at the time, just stayed silent in the inky blackness and tried to drown out the sounds to give the men dignity in their time of need. It was hard not to imagine what being with a man would entail due to these circumstances but he never would have imagined this. 

He felt pressure as Poirot’s finger tried to gain entry to his body; it was too much there must be another way.

“Breathe, mon chéri.”

He filled his lungs with a huge inhalation of air almost until they felt they would burst. His breath caught in his throat as he felt Poirot’s finger enter his body, it was a slightly uncomfortable too-full feeling.

“De toute beauté”

Poirot’s breathless voice carried over the turmoil within his head; he knew he was out of his depth. He felt uncomfortable and shameful about where he was being touched did people enjoy this? Did it get better? He tried to breathe and endure as Poirot surely knew what he was doing, he always did and he was being so patient and gentle.

Indulgent, ticklish kisses were ghosted over the middle of his back, Poirot's soft breath making him squirm in their wake. As he felt fingers slinking up his inner thigh to engulf him in Poirot’s strong warm hand making him inhale sharply. Poirot briefly removed his finger only for it to return almost immediately and now there were two.

“Vous vous sentez exquis.”

Too full, too full he was fit to bust this couldn’t be right it didn’t feel right. All he could concentration were how thick Poirot’s fingers felt, he couldn’t even remember if he had ever noticed how thick they were before this but he was noticing now.

A sudden jolt of pure ecstasy stole the air from his lungs and turned his body into a quivering mass as a moan erupted from his throat much to the delight of Poirot who started to nibble across his flesh while whispering soft endearments he could barely hear over the rushing in his ears.

“Mon beau Arthur… “

Hastings felt like he had gone from uncomfortable and confused to feeling like a quivering deer in two seconds flat and his brain hadn’t quite caught up with the idea that they were on fire and about to ejaculate all over Poirot’s neatly pressed trousers mortifying him for all eternity. 

His panicked high was abruptly interrupted by Poirot adding another finger to the mix which took a little of the edge off which strangely under the circumstances he was grateful for. As the fog in his mind cleared slightly he felt the fullness but this time it was offset by the pleasurable sensations he was receiving from the splendid way Poirot moved his fingers. 

“I think we should retire to the bedroom Mon chéri.”

Hastings wasn’t too sure he could move but with a little help from Poirot, he found himself spread out on Poirot’s meticulous sheets watching as Poirot quickly but efficiently shed his clothes until he was gloriously bare before him. He took him all in and started to feel a little intimidated again but he knew that Poirot would be gentle with him. 

Hastings shifted his legs to make room as Poirot moved onto the bed and he realized that he had brought the little jar of salve with him. He then leaned down over him to press a reassuring kiss on his lips that he returned gratefully. 

“If at any time you wish to stop or go slower don’t be afraid to tell me, I want this to be parfait pour toi.”

Hastings nodded he knew he could trust Poirot and that he would never forget this day for as long as he lived. 

Poirot then positioned himself and started to carefully and slowly push inside and he realized belatedly that Poirot must have applied more salve. He felt the fullness again but due to Poirot’s careful preparations, it felt pleasurable and comforting, this wonderful feeling of closeness between them. 

As he started to move there was a slight discomfit, he looked up to see Poirot’s intense gaze and everything else melted away until the pleasure returned with a jolt and before he knew what was happening they had both become caught up in their passions until Hastings world whited out into an intense experience that enveloped him within the potent feelings within his mind and body. He slowly came back to himself with Poirot’s body a comforting pressure and his mouth worrying at his pulse point. 

“Tu vas bien mon chéri?”

“I will be in a minute.”

He felt more than heard Poirot’s chuckle against his neck before he got up to retrieve something from somewhere outside the bedroom. He returned in a few minutes with a warm damp cloth and gently cleaned Hastings before climbing back in beside him and pulling the covers around them both.

“We will have a small nap to give you time to recover mon ami then we will have to get back to work and Poirot will explain all to you.”

“A break in the case?”

“All in good time mon beau Hastings.”

Poirot pulled him onto his chest with his arm around him he started gently stroking his neck, which made Hastings close his eyes and start to drift. As his fingers moved over the back of his neck he had a flash memory of Gertie digging her fingers in which made his eyes snap open. 

He needed to address the elephant in the room, as he knew that he would need Poirot’s help but would it be in bad taste to bring it up? He started to squirm a little as his thoughts pushed to the forefront of his mind swirling around and around in turmoil.

“What bothers you mon ami?”

“I’m sorry but the Gertie situation…”

“Gertie? Now really Hastings?”

“No, the thought only occurred to me that I’m probably not the best person to help her”

“Mon pauvre beau Hastings, you really do have a beautiful nature.”

“What do you mean?”

“Not to worry as I say I will explain all to you after your rest.”

Poirot resumed his stroking but moved his fingers up over his cheek while placing gentle kisses on the cheek closest to him. The gentle counter rhythm slowly lulled Hastings to sleep thinking about the intense way that Poirot looked at him this afternoon, how his teeth felt against his skin and the gentle cocoon he was now in everything else could wait.

**Author's Note:**

> Translations
> 
> Bonjour= Hello  
> Mon ami= My friend  
> Mon pauvre Hastings= My poor Hastings  
> Ne sois pas bête= Do not be silly  
> Mon Cher Hastings= My dear Hastings  
> s'il vous plait= please  
> mauvaise nuit pour Poirot= bad night for Poirot  
> J'ai préparé un merveilleux dîner pour toi= I prepared a wonderful dinner for you  
> Je craignais le pire= I feared the worst  
> Qu'as tu fais la nuit dernière?= What did you do last night?  
> Où étiez-vous?= Where have you been?  
> Qu'est-ce que c'est?= What is it?  
> Mon pauvre beau Hastings, que vais-je faire de toi?= My poor beautiful Hastings, what am I going to do with you?  
> Ça va mon cher= It's okay my dear  
> as-tu fait l'amour?= did you make love?  
> la vérité= the truth  
> Mon beau Hastings= My beautiful Hastings  
> Mon chéri Hastings= My darling Hastings  
> Mon Cher= My Dear  
> dis à Poirot ce que tu veux= tell Poirot what you want  
> Oui, Mon chéri= Yes, my darling  
> Un moment mon beau ange= One moment my beautiful angel  
> Mon chéri= My darling  
> Bon= Good  
> Respirez mon chéri= Breathe my darling  
> De toute beauté= Beautiful  
> Vous vous sentez exquis= You feel exquisite  
> Mon beau Arthur= My beautiful Arthur  
> parfait pour toi= perfect for you  
> Tu vas bien mon chéri?= You're good darling?  
> mon beau Hastings= my beautiful Hastings  
> Mon pauvre beau Hastings= My poor beautiful Hastings


End file.
